


Blood Will Tell

by Ernmark (M_Moonshade)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Blood and Gore, Juno is a werewolf, M/M, Peter is a vampire, werewolves are considered high class and vampires are generally outcasts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-13 10:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12982314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/Ernmark
Summary: The universe had a perverse sense of humor, because it somehow found the one thing more absurd than a thief in love with a private eye: a vampire in love with a werewolf.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've got one vampire AU and one werewolf AU, and I was requested by an anon to combine the two into one story-- so I decided to do something a little bit different.

Juno knew Peter was a vampire right away– if not from the moment he first laid eyes on him, then somewhere during the car ride to Casa Kanagawa. Peter was certain it had to have been before then, because of the way Juno refused to budge from the front entrance of the sprawling mansion.

“Nope,” he said to the doorman. “This is as far as I go until I see somebody who actually lives here. If the Family wants me on the case this badly, then they can say it to my face.”

By all means, it looked like one last chance to dig his heels in before he got started on this case. A show of defiance in the face of fear, to the eyes of anyone who didn’t know better.

Peter  _did_ know better. He was intimately aware that this was a private residence– just the sort that he couldn’t enter without a personal invitation from a living resident. Of course, Peter had already procured just such an invitation a few days ago, right before he stole inside to steal Grim’s Mask– but Juno didn’t know that. 

All he knew was that Peter was a vampire, that he needed an invitation, and that revealing himself to ask would be uniquely humiliating. So Juno caused a scene and put himself at its center to spare Peter from ever being implicated.

He gave no other sign that he knew, except to invite Peter into his own apartment at the case’s end. That had far less fanfare: just a quiet, self-conscious, “come on in” over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold. He didn’t make awkward innuendos over offering him a drink, either– just a quiet “whiskey?” when he grabbed a bottle and two tumblers out of the liquor cabinet. 

It wasn’t the reason why Peter fell a little bit in love with Juno Steel– after all, treating a vampire like an actual person is little more than common decency, even if it isn’t all that  _common_ – but it certainly didn’t hurt. 

(No, if Peter wanted to pinpoint the exact moment, it was when Juno was on the floor, bleeding profusely from a wound he’d taken for Peter’s sake and looking at Peter like he was the most valuable treasure in this room full of priceless artifacts. It wasn’t until Peter absently licked his gloves afterward that he remembered that he’d been within tasting distance of a feast. Seeing Juno in pain had made him forget how long it had been since he’d eaten.)

Perhaps the whole affair had left him a little bit infatuated with the detective. Perhaps he’d been imagining the sound of his name on Juno’s lips when he wrote that hasty little note. Perhaps he went a bit too far out of his way to avoid killing Juno when he ran into that factory. Perhaps when Miasma demanded that he look into the person who’d swallowed her Martian Pill, Peter was a touch more extensive than necessary in his research.

That’s how he found the registration. 

It looked like Juno had spent time trying to blot all references from his personal record; he’d gone so far as to corrupt the registration number itself, just so it wouldn’t come up on a basic search, but there was no scrubbing the evidence. Not completely.

Peter cleaned up the number and entered it into the registry by hand, half hoping that he wouldn’t find anything.

The universe had a perverse sense of humor, because it somehow found the one thing more absurd than a thief in love with a private eye: a vampire in love with a werewolf.

Not just any werewolf, either.

 _Juno Steel,_  the entry said.  _Son of Sarah Steel and Cyrus Steel née Lanik_. Both of his parents had entries of their own, and so did their parents, and theirs before them, and theirs before them, stretching back for generations. He was a certified  _purebred_.

Peter had met werewolves with family trees this old, but all of them had lived in the kinds of splendor that would make the Kanagawas jealous (after all, Croesus’ father was the first in his lineage to be bitten, and Min Kanagawa had only been made a werewolf shortly before their wedding; they were far too new a family to be properly respectable). 

If people like that deigned to work for a living, it was only ever in positions that had words like ‘executive’ somewhere in the title. If they took to the streets solving crimes, it was only ever in capes and masks and the kinds of gadgets only available to the rich and righteous. They didn’t live in cramped one-bedroom apartments on the cheap side of town. They didn’t drive deathtrap cars that hadn’t been inspected in years. They didn’t so much as  _look_ at vampires, much less invite them into their homes, and they certainly didn’t kiss them like they needed them to breathe.

Peter wetted his lips as they curved into a grin. He was a master thief, after all. It was his prerogative to take what was never his to have. 

He would start with the heart of Juno Steel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was conceived in the throes of a very bad fever. Be warned if you are at all sensitive to blood, gore, violence, or torture, this might not be a great story for you.

“Again.” 

And Juno  _ tried _ , dammit, he  _ tried _ . But his skull felt like it was splitting in two all on its own, and reaching into Nureyev’s head felt like sticking his hand in a blender– except that you could only ever do that twice, tops.

This? There was no end to this sick game.

Miasma let out an irritated sigh and reached for the dial.

“No, wait!” Juno cried, dragging himself back in. “Just give me a second. It’s a–” 

Miasma wasn’t listening. She turned the dial. Agony hit Nureyev like a sledgehammer– and Juno, still inside his head, felt every shock. He hissed through gritted teeth, the straps around his wrists and ankles straining as his back arched off the table.

And just as quickly as it started, it fell away, leaving them both gasping. Something wet seeped from Juno’s eyes, but he couldn’t tell if it was blood or tears. He couldn’t tell if the agony was in his head or Nureyev’s. 

But he was still there, inside Nureyev’s head. In the sudden absence of pain was a moment of numb clarity. His eyes were on the card, even if his mind wasn’t.

“The card,” Miasma said. And maybe the most twisted thing about all of this? She sounded  _ bored _ . 

“Blue diamond,” Juno panted. Already his grasp on Nureyev’s head was slipping, but he clung on. 

“Very good. Next.” 

Nureyev flipped the next card, and Juno’s stomach lurched. He yanked himself out of the thief’s head. He couldn’t. Goddammit, he couldn’t, he just  _ couldn’t _ . 

Miasma narrowed her eyes at him, and she reached for the dial.

“Red diamond,” Juno said. 

It had to be red.

She pulled her hand back. “Next.”

“Goddammit, just give him something to eat already,” Juno said. “It’s been days.”

“Vampires can survive weeks between feeding,” she said carelessly. “I won’t need him to last that long.” She tipped her head toward the microphone. “ _ Next _ .” 

Juno had no choice.

He went back in. 

The moment of clarity had passed, chased away by the pure, sweet red of the card– and in its wake was nothing but hunger. It was overwhelming. All-consuming. The next card was in his hands, but he wasn’t looking at it– his eyes were on the masked assistant in the corner of the room, watching the pulse beat under the skin of xir neck. Nureyev could taste the memory of blood on his parched tongue, could imagine it pouring hot and thick down his throat. Every fiber of his being was driven toward it, honed with animal instinct and inhuman thirst.

He wanted to kill– to rip open that pathetic sack of flesh and take what was his due. He wanted to slaughter every creature in this godforsaken tomb and gorge until he was satisfied. 

And if he gave himself half an instant to feel it, Juno wanted it, too. And not just because of the vampire in his head.

He was sick of hurting, of being hungry and tired and used-- but more than anything, he was  _ pissed _ . Because Miasma had come into his city. She’d killed his people. She’d tortured his thief. She’d violated his mind.

The ancient, animal part of him-- the part that he shared with kingpins and gangsters across the galaxy-- wanted to kill her for it. Slowly. 

But he was Juno Steel, not just some goddamn werewolf. He was smarter than that. Smart enough to know that he was strapped to a table and Miasma’s people were packing heat, and even a werewolf couldn’t shrug off a laser to the head. Revenge might be sweet, but it wasn’t worth a damn if he didn’t make it out of this tomb alive. 

_ Look at the card,  _ he mentally pleaded, wishing like hell that this mind-reading thing worked both ways. Come on, Nureyev, look at the fucking card. Please. Please, goddammit, please just look--

Nureyev’s eyes flicked, and Juno got a glimpse. Just one, but it was all he needed.

“Black triangle,” he gasped. “It’s a fucking-- fucking black triangle.” 

“Very good.” Miasma couldn’t even be bothered to look up at him. “Next.”

“No.” Fuck, he could barely get the word out. Every time he went in, it got harder. He couldn’t take it anymore. “No more cards. No more games. Not until he eats.” 

“No,” she said flatly.

His straps creaked as he threw himself at her. “Goddammit, this is inhumane!”

“I don’t care.” 

And of course she didn’t. Why would she? After all, torture and murder and nonconsensual medical experiments didn’t ding her moral compass; why would she give a shit about starving a man to death?

So Juno grabbed onto the only thing she  _ did  _ care about.

“It’s interfering with the experiment,” he said quickly. “He– he’s too hungry to think straight, and if he can’t think then I can’t read his mind, okay? Just let him eat, or let me in there and I’ll open a vein myself.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” she said in that flat, detached way of hers. “If he isn’t useful, then he’ll be disposed of.”  She reached for the console again, not for the dial but for the intercom. “Assistant _ , _ get a knife--” 

“Goddammit, stop!” 

“ _ The next card, Juno Steel. _ ” 

His brain felt like it was trying to claw its way through his skull as he forced himself back into Nureyev’s head. Choked screams were spilling out of his mouth, but he had to keep going. He had to reach just a little farther-- just a little--

There: Nureyev’s eyes. His vision was tunneling, their edges going hazy and red. His eyes were fixed straight ahead at the card in his hand.

“Black triangle,” Juno said.

“I said the next card,” Miasma snapped.

“What are you talking about? That was the next card. It’s-- it’s not my fault your people did a shitty job shuffling the deck.”

“There are no repeated cards in this deck,” Miasma said. 

“Well, then I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe somebody’s been cheating at poker night. I don’t know, but that’s the goddamn card in his hand.”

Miasma narrowed her eyes. “Then draw the next one.”

But Nureyev didn’t reach for another card. The black triangle stayed in his hand, slowly crumpling in his grip. There was no conscious thought left in his head-- nothing but the hunger and the all-consuming pain.

“Nureyev?” Juno whispered. He could hear his own voice filtering through the intercom. He could feel Nureyev reacting to his name for just a moment, trying to respond, but there were no words left in his head. “Nureyev, please, just draw a card.” 

Nureyev extended his fingers. The card fluttered from his hand.

Juno’s own vision was fading, but he fought against it. He couldn’t black out now, not when Nureyev was like this. He had to stay awake. 

“Something’s wrong with him.” Juno tried to grab at Miasma’s arm, but the cuff kept him in place. “This needs to stop. Just give him a break, or give him something to eat, or some water, or--” 

Miasma’s finger twisted on the dial. Juno felt every volt that arced through Nureyev’s spine. As soon as Juno stopped screaming, she leaned in close. 

“ _ Draw the next card _ .”

Juno thrashed at his restraints. “Don’t you get it? He can’t! Neither of us can! We need rest, and we need food, and we need--”

Miasma reached for the intercom button again. “Assistant.” 

Juno sagged. Finally, she was going to give them a break. 

“Assistant, I’ve had enough of this. Kill the thief.”

No.

No no  _ no no no _ .

Juno could hear the masked assistant stepping toward Nureyev. There was a blaster in xir hand. 

Nureyev bared his teeth at his attacker, but there was nothing else he could do.

There was nothing either of them could do.

And suddenly, getting out alive didn’t matter so much anymore. 

In his head there was only hunger and hatred and a deep, primordial rage. 

_ You want control? Then fucking take it. _

In the vampire’s mind, there were no words.

First there was hunger.

Then the knife. 

It was glowing, crackling with its own electricity-- meant to stun him, disable him, keep him from fighting back, but he’d fight all the same. He’d never stop fighting (but he was so tired, and so hungry, and so hurt and he wanted it to stop now).

And then there was a sound. 

He knew these sounds-- the wet gurgle of a punctured lung, the choking gasp before a death rattle. The sound of a hunt, echoing through the chamber and abruptly cut off, but it wasn’t over. 

The one with the knife turned away from him. Xe faced the door. Ran to it, only to be knocked back when a second human crashed through. There was blood on her hands, on her clothes, and the vampire’s mouth watered. Together the humans fumbled at the lock, bleating their panic with throats that cannot scream.

The door pounded.

Once.

Twice.

The humans bolted like rabbits as the door lurched open. They didn’t get far. 

He couldn’t see the blood spilling onto the floor, but he could smell it. He could taste it in the air, sweet and saporous, and it made his mouth water.

Footsteps drew close, each step punctuated by the click of claws on stone. The wolf loomed over him, his bulk hunched forward, his muscles rippling, his whole form cloaked in sleek black fur.  

His lips pulled back from his fangs in a growl. The vampire flashed his fangs in return-- he would rather fight as a predator than die as prey-- but only as a moment’s defiance. He was hurt. He was tired. He was so, so hungry. 

The wolf reached out to him, and that must have meant something, but the vampire didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was dripping from the wolf’s paws, the sweetness of a meal so near his face, the satisfaction as he ran his tongue over the extended claw, and then the next. 

It was ambrosia on his lips, utterly irresistible. He didn’t let go of the claw until he’d licked it clean, and only then to take the other and bring it to his mouth. 

He didn’t realize until he’d lapped away every last drop that the cuffs around his arms were gone. 

The wolf leaned in, already smaller, thinner, more human. When he leaned in, Peter felt no fangs-- just full, soft lips, and always, always the taste of blood. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> briwhosaysni asked:
> 
> So glad to see more of the werewolf!juno, vampire!peter au, because it's one of my favorites (which is saying something, considering how much I love All your stuff). I was wondering if we could get more of it? Maybe what happens after Juno saves Peter? Or whatever you feel like, really. I just love that au a lot.

Juno wasn’t sure exactly how, but he’d made his way to the chamber that had been retrofitted as a bathroom. He could barely remember peeling off his clothes, but he was acutely aware of the dried blood stiffening his shirt and itching as it flaked off his skin. Everything felt wrong, too raw and too hazy all at the same time, and he just wanted it to  _stop_ –

He shut the shower door hard enough to rattle the glass and twisted the knob. Cold water pounded against his scalp and dripped off his nose, sluicing off his shoulders, running down his back. For a few moments, the sound of it was louder than his scrambled thoughts. For a few moments, his skin only crawled because he was shivering.

But already the sensations were starting to dull and fade. Pretty soon the mess inside his head would come back out in all its ugly glory.

A desperate part of him groped for Nureyev’s mind– he wanted to hear thoughts that weren’t his own– but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be in there right now. Because Nureyev deserved privacy while he fed, and because Juno had been in his head, and he’d felt what was there, and he couldn’t handle it.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not that it mattered anyway, because Nureyev was too far away for him to reach even if he tried.

* * *

There were no bodies in the hallway– just rust-dark stains on the red stone floor marking where they’d been, and where they’d been dragged away. The bodies were set in the testing room, all lined up in a row and covered in a tarp.

Seven, all together.

Juno had killed seven people.

He felt sick to his stomach, but suddenly he couldn’t decided if that was the guilt, or if it was something he ate.

Or some _one_?

Jesus, there’d been blood in his mouth. He’d ripped out somebody’s throat with his teeth. Did he swallow it? Fuck, did eat someone? If he pulled back that tarp right now, how many pieces would be missing? What did he do? What the hell did he do?

“Juno?” A hand closed on his shoulder, and his whole body jolted. They were back– more masked assistants, more people to drag him from his room, more blood and more bodies and more– “No need to fret, Juno. It’s just me.”

Juno shuddered with relief. “Nureyev.” He turned to glance at the thief, and the hand on his shoulder slid down to settle on the small of his back.

“I see you’ve cleaned up rather nicely.” 

“Yeah,” Juno said, his voice flat. It was a lie. Juno had tried to wash his own clothes in the shower, but there was no saving them. They were perforated by laser holes that miraculously hadn’t hit anything vital; the bloodstains were faded, but they refused to come out entirely no matter how hard he scrubbed. He’d done his best to wring out the clothes after, but they were deathly cold and clammy against his skin. At least he didn’t look any worse than he felt. “I’m done with the shower if you want to use it.”

“A tempting offer, but I’d rather wait until we’ve put this place behind us.” He hesitated. “I hope that won’t be too offensive to your nose?”

“You’re fine,” Juno said quickly. And honestly, he was, as much as anyone could be after spending a week in this dungeon. His clothes were rumpled and dirty and he’d been marinading in stress sweat for as long as Juno had, but there wasn’t a drop of blood on him. “You’re right. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

His eyes strayed back to the row of bodies, and he went quiet.

Nureyev’s arm curled around Juno’s waist and gave him a gentle squeeze. “We should leave them here. What better place for bodies than a tomb?”

“Yeah,” Juno muttered. “But shouldn’t we– I don’t know, get their names? Tell their families?”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not feeling terribly sympathetic, given everything that’s happened.” But when Juno didn’t reply, he continued, his voice softer than before. “I’ve already looked for personal effects. Miasma didn’t allow any of that down here, any more than she allowed their voices. They chose to accept those terms, and everything that came with them. But you and I, Juno – we’re alive, and free to make whatever choices we please.” 

God, he was so close. Juno could just flatten himself against himself against Nureyev’s chest and stay there forever.

Instead he stepped back, away from Nureyev and away from the bodies. “We shouldn’t leave the Egg down here– there’s too big a chance somebody else is gonna find it. You still have that friend in the Cerberus District?”

“Of course.”

“Right. Then let’s get it and get out of here.” He started for the hallway. “You didn’t see it when you grabbed that tarp, did you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Did you find anything on Miasma’s body? A key or something? It might give us an idea of where to start looking.”

Peter’s expression froze into a careful mask.

“Not yet,” he said maybe a little too delicately. “But I haven’t had much luck finding her body to begin with.”

Juno frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“She isn’t with the bodies I found.”

Juno shook his head. “Of course she was. She was right here.” There was the table he’d been strapped to right before he’d torn through the restraints. There was her chair, overturned and covered in gore. There was the place she fell, one blood stain among many.

“It’s possible that you didn’t injure her quite as severely as you assumed. Maybe she managed to escape while you were… otherwise occupied.” 

“I tore out her throat, Nureyev. People don’t just walk away from that.”

“She could have crawled.” It was a reach, and they both knew it.  

A horrifying possibility crossed his mind: had he  _eaten_ her? Could they not find her because he hadn’t left any pieces big enough to attach a name to?

But no– no, that didn’t make sense. Even a werewolf couldn’t scarf down an entire human skull without leaving a trace.

“Yeah,” Juno said finally, swallowing down bile. “Yeah, you’re right. She probably crawled away and… and hid somewhere. That makes sense.” No, it didn’t, but that didn’t matter. “She can rot down here for all I care. Let’s just find the Egg.”

There was one big problem with that plan:

The Egg of Purus was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> browncoatparadox asked:
> 
> Is there any possibility you could continue the story where Peter's a vampire and Juno's a purebred werewolf?

“Wait,” Juno said as they trudged to the gaping maw of the tomb. “The car’s still here?” 

“So it would seem.” Peter gave the Ruby 7′s hood an affectionate pat and dug into his pockets for a carjacking tool. He didn’t need to use it, though– the doors had been left unlocked. And with a car as valuable as this, no less. Criminal. She hadn’t even bothered to wipe the override software Peter had used to hijack its systems. A few quick commands, a couple of passwords, and they were in.

Juno cast one long look around the cavern before he got in on the passenger side. “I didn’t see any other cars when we came in here,” he said. “How the hell did they get away?”

“Through one of the teleporters, I suspect. The ones you found in that warehouse were hardly the only ones in Miasma’s collection, after all. It only makes sense that she’d keep a few here.” He would have suggested they use them as well, except the Ruby 7 was valuable enough to justify taking a little longer.

“Teleporters?” Juno swore under his breath. “Then she– whoever it was– they could be anywhere.”

“Yes, I had gathered that much.” The conversation lapsed as Martian desert flew past them. It could be going faster, of course, even without breaching the Ruby 7′s top speeds, but there was no need to strain Juno’s constitution with a rough ride. Besides, maintaining a consistent speed gave Peter something to focus on. His mind was whirling at a thousand miles a minute, coming up with plans and contingencies and counter-contingencies. 

Finally he broke the silence. “Tell me, are there any systems you’ve always been meaning to visit?”

Juno started out of his own brooding. “What?”

“Trappist is quite remarkable this time of year,” Peter suggested.

“You’re kidding,” Juno said. “Nureyev, Miasma or one of her goons or whatever– they’re still out there, and they’ve got the Martian bomb. If they decide to set it off–”

“Then I would rather not be on Mars when that happens,” Peter finished. “As a matter of fact, I’d prefer to put quite a few systems between us before then. So what are you thinking? Trapist? Vega? Tau Ceti?”

He eased the controls over to the autopilot and glanced at Juno. The detective looked like he might be sick.

“Nureyev, I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can,” Peter said. “I have a safe house in Olympus Mons; it won’t take me more than an hour to make you a passport, and then you’re free to go where you like.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Juno said quietly, his arms folding over his chest. “Not when that bomb is still out there.”

“Weren’t you paying attention earlier?” Peter asked. “It could be anywhere. The chances of finding it now are infinitesimal at best.”

“Yeah, well, good thing I’m a detective.” 

“We’ve done more than enough already, Juno.” Peter was all too aware this was starting to sound like pleading. “Nobody could ask more.”

“I’m not asking you to stay.” Juno averted his eyes to the dunes. “You do what you have to. I’m going to see this through.” 

Peter opened his mouth, but if there was an argument that could persuade Juno, it was beyond him.

It was a trope, long since discarded as cliche, but Peter had once entertained the fantasy of the brave, handsome werewolf who would come into his life one day and sweep him off his feet. The person in his fantasies had been honorable, yes, but only as an abstraction. Peter hadn’t considered the consequence of that quality: honorable men might live to be heroes, but they might just as easily die martyrs. 

It was stupid and futile and quite nearly suicidal.

Peter didn’t think it was possible to fall any more in love with him.

He forced his eyes to the stretch of desert ahead and took back control of the car. 

“Well,” he said as soon as he trusted himself to speak. “I suppose that settles it. We stand a better chance of finding it if we work together.” 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Juno’s expression soften. “You don’t have to.”

“I insist. We make quite a team, after all.” He checked the GPS on the dashboard. “Shall we start in Olympus Mons, or would you prefer to return in Hyperion City?”

“Honestly, it’s probably smarter if we split up,” Juno muttered. “You search one, I search the other, and we can check back in with each other in… what, a month?”

“That would be effective, I suppose.” The faux leather of the steering wheel creaked under Peter’s grip. “But if it’s all the same to you, detective, I would prefer we didn’t.” He didn’t look, but Juno’s gaze weighed heavy on him. “After everything that’s happened, I would rather not be alone.” 

“Nureyev…” Whatever Juno intended to say fizzled and died, and a long silence followed. Finally he cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’ll be any better off with me?”

“But of course.” Peter flashed a small, soft smile. “You’re the one who saved me, after all.”


	5. Chapter 5

There was a right way to handle this. Juno even knew what that was: he should recommend that Nureyev get a hotel room somewhere nearby, and they could meet up in the morning and talk about the next steps in their plan. He could tell Nureyev he needed some space after everything that had happened– hell, it wasn’t like it would be a lie.

But he couldn’t say it.

Not when Nureyev’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Not when his clothes were saturated with the scent of more than a week’s worth of fear and pain. Not when he’d explicitly asked Juno not to leave him alone– and coming from a guy like him, who was always cool and calm and collected, that actually meant something. 

Besides, whoever had taken the Egg was still out there somewhere, and they might decide to go after Nureyev to cover their tracks. Even if Juno was heartless enough to send him away, he’d be up most of the night stressing about him anyway.

So he told himself he was just being smart. Not selfish.  _Practical_.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that enough times, he’d start to believe it. 

He fumbled with his keys a few times before he got the apartment door unlocked. 

“Go ahead and get comfortable,” he muttered, glancing down the hallway just in case there was somebody there, and then dead-bolting the door behind them. “The bathroom’s that way–” Dammit, what was he wasting his breath for? Nureyev had been here before twice already. He knew where the goddamn bathroom was. “I can show you how to work the shower if you want to get cleaned up before bed. Or that can wait until morning.” 

“In the morning, perhaps,” Nureyev said, following him inside. “I, for one, am looking forward to a good night’s sleep. It’s been far too long.”

“Yeah.” Juno grabbed a pillow off the bed and a set of clean clothes out of the dresser. There was a blanket in the closet by the TV– usually that was for when Rita got herself worked up with those damn horror movies and had to sleep at his place until she calmed down. If anything, it was probably cleaner than the sheets on his own bed, aside from a bit of dust. “I’ll be on the couch. Just… let me know if you need anything.” 

“The couch?” Nureyev asked. “Are you sure?”

There was a right way to handle this. 

“Yeah,” Juno said, already turning away to make his retreat. “Just get some rest.”

“Juno.” Nureyev’s voice was soft. Expensive shoes crossed the floor behind him, their soles padded to near silence by sand and dust. “Don’t let me keep you from your own bed.”  Slender hands lighted on Juno’s arm, soft and cold as snowfall. 

Nureyev wasn’t exactly conservative with his touches, but every time the chill of him caught Juno off guard. He wasn’t sure if that was part of the vampirism or bad circulation or if he was just that unaccustomed to the weather on Mars– but then, Juno didn’t know why his own temperature ran hot, either. He couldn’t make himself focus on the question enough to ask it. He wanted Nureyev to get closer, to sooth away the pain of broken skin and laser burns. He wanted to rub heat into those cold hands and kiss him until his lips glowed like coals.

“Nureyev,” he started, but his mouth stumbled over the word. He knew how he wanted to continue that sentence. He also knew that was the last thing in the world that he  _should_  do. There was a right way to handle this, and it involved shutting that door and going back to the couch and not thinking about cold hands on hot skin. But Nureyev was right there and getting closer, and his hand was sliding against Juno’s neck, and when the hell had Juno Steel ever done the right thing, anyway?

The door slammed open, and suddenly it wasn’t his choice to make anymore.

He turned around, already reaching for his blaster, but he was interrupted by a scandalized gasp. “Mistah  _Steel!_ ”

 “Rita?” He didn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed at his secretary as she stormed across his livingroom, slamming the door behind her.

“Mistah Steel, you should be ashamed of yourself!” she said. “You just went off like that without a word and just that weird message on the voicemail, and then you’re gone for almost two weeks and I don’t hear a thing from you, and then I find out that somebody’s opened the door of your apartment and that could be anyone, you never know, and if it’s one of those people who’s out to get you I wasn’t gonna just let ‘em dig around in here without a fight, but then it’s you and you’re okay and you didn’t even think to  _call_ me and you’re here with some– some–” She waved her arms at man behind Juno, and suddenly recognition dawned on her face. “Some  _secret agent!_ ” 

Maybe Juno was just too tired for this shit tonight, but that was not the direction he thought this was going.

“Misah Steel, why didn’t you tell me you were workin’ with Dark Matters!” 

“I would appreciate you keeping that little detail between the three of us.” Juno’s back was turned to him, but he knew without looking that Nureyev’s spine had straightened, his elbows were close against his sides, his knees tight together and angled at a nearly perfect forty-five degrees. He was missing the uniform and sunglasses, but he didn’t need them to be unmistakably Rex Glass. “This is a rather delicate matter.”

“I knew it!” Rita crowed. “I knew the two of you had a thing! All that pining couldn’ta been over nothin’.” 

“Rita,” Juno growled. He didn’t need this right now. But at the same time, he couldn’t ignore an opportunity like this. “It’s not like that, Rita. I was helping Agent Glass with a case.” 

Her eyes were sparkling. “Sure ya were.” 

Nureyev seemed to catch on. “I did ask you to keep this matter private, detective. The fewer people know about this operation, the better.”

“Yeah, well, we’re better off with her on this case anyway.” If they were going to find the Egg of Purus before someone decided to set it off, they were going to need all the help they could get– and that meant they needed Rita. 

“And you’re certain we can trust her?” It was a perfect setup, and Juno took the lead. 

“Rita’s the one person on Mars I’m sure about.” 

Rita ducked her head coyly, a little grin on her face. “Aw,  _boss_.”

“Very well,” Nureyev said. “I’ve been investigating a spy who had infiltrated Dark Matters. I brought on Juno to assist in the investigation, but last week the case took a turn…”


End file.
